06-02-2014, 11:53 PM
There were no paper notes taken; there was no need. The conversation was recorded, both by camera and by microphone. There was a dizzying array of imaging equipment in the glassy black domes in the corners of the room. Enhanced zoom cameras tracked her eye movements and dilation, sensitive thermal cameras watched for changes in body heat. There was a wealth of information that could be learned from the body's reactions to things that an officer's eyes and ears could miss.
The woman was clearly shaken regarding the sudden passing of Katya. The two had hit it off well, it seemed. It was easy to see in her posture, her choice of words, but there was little he could do for her but to lead the questions away from that topic.
Her description of the events leading up to Katya's death fit with what he understood of the Sickness. The sudden drop in body temperature, disorientation. The aversion to going to the hospital was curious but likely linked to some sort of early life trauma.
She seemed afraid of Jon; he was American, and likely a bit of their stereotype for aggression and arrogance had bled over to form her opinion of the man. Jon's apparent disorientation could also have been linked to the Sickness; confusing Thalia for someone else and the sudden loss of consciousness, but the aggressive behavior didn't seem to fit. But maybe that was simply because he was American? Violence so often seemed the best option to those sorts. Odd for a lawyer though.
It was unfortunate that she hadn't looked out the windows; as an artist, he had had some hope she would be his best hope of getting a glimpse at what may have been outside the car. And finally it came to Dane. The man with the hair in his pocket. She seemed comfortable speaking of Dane, if a bit curious perhaps.
"Mr Little Bird is alive. Likely, the young man is laying in a bed at the hospital, having some pudding this very moment."
The last he had read of the man's condition, all signs were good that he would be fine with some rest. "Thank you, Miss Milton. One of my men will see to it that you can call your sister, or I can arrange for someone to drive you home. A counselor will be with you shortly. They are a bit more comforting to speak with then I am."
He smiled softly. It was standard procedure, considering all the stress she had gone through in the past few hours.
He had gotten what he would need for now; further detail into Katya's death. There was no indications she had been poisoned, at least not on the train, and while it was strange that Jon and she had displayed similar symptoms (disorientation and loss of consciousness to be exact), there seemed to be no further connection between the two.
He collected his papers and stood from the table, collecting his empty coffee cup. "Thank you for your cooperation Miss Milton. A detective may need to see you in the future for additional questions, but I hope we do not need to bother you further."
The woman was clearly shaken regarding the sudden passing of Katya. The two had hit it off well, it seemed. It was easy to see in her posture, her choice of words, but there was little he could do for her but to lead the questions away from that topic.
Her description of the events leading up to Katya's death fit with what he understood of the Sickness. The sudden drop in body temperature, disorientation. The aversion to going to the hospital was curious but likely linked to some sort of early life trauma.
She seemed afraid of Jon; he was American, and likely a bit of their stereotype for aggression and arrogance had bled over to form her opinion of the man. Jon's apparent disorientation could also have been linked to the Sickness; confusing Thalia for someone else and the sudden loss of consciousness, but the aggressive behavior didn't seem to fit. But maybe that was simply because he was American? Violence so often seemed the best option to those sorts. Odd for a lawyer though.
It was unfortunate that she hadn't looked out the windows; as an artist, he had had some hope she would be his best hope of getting a glimpse at what may have been outside the car. And finally it came to Dane. The man with the hair in his pocket. She seemed comfortable speaking of Dane, if a bit curious perhaps.
"Mr Little Bird is alive. Likely, the young man is laying in a bed at the hospital, having some pudding this very moment."
The last he had read of the man's condition, all signs were good that he would be fine with some rest. "Thank you, Miss Milton. One of my men will see to it that you can call your sister, or I can arrange for someone to drive you home. A counselor will be with you shortly. They are a bit more comforting to speak with then I am."
He smiled softly. It was standard procedure, considering all the stress she had gone through in the past few hours.
He had gotten what he would need for now; further detail into Katya's death. There was no indications she had been poisoned, at least not on the train, and while it was strange that Jon and she had displayed similar symptoms (disorientation and loss of consciousness to be exact), there seemed to be no further connection between the two.
He collected his papers and stood from the table, collecting his empty coffee cup. "Thank you for your cooperation Miss Milton. A detective may need to see you in the future for additional questions, but I hope we do not need to bother you further."